


B for Barista

by sweetly_disposed



Series: Alphabetical [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bad Puns, Barista Harry, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Terrible puns actually, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetly_disposed/pseuds/sweetly_disposed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coffee shops and terrible puns, with an extra shot of pining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	B for Barista

It's ten minutes into the morning rush, and Harry is already frazzled.

Liam is always telling him he needs to do yoga or some shit to help him cope with his nerves, and right now, as in every rush, Harry is regretting not listening to him. All that breathing deeply and relaxing would probably help him when he feels the first pinches of anxiety over making a simple latte. He takes a moment to centre himself, thinks of sunshine and baby lambs, and then gets to work. Coffee, milk, steam, shot of caramel, takeout cup, repeat.

Harry's been doing this for a couple of years, so it figures he should be used to it by now. But, like snowflakes, no two coffees are ever the same, there's always a flick of the wrist or the varying pressure of the steamer that keeps Harry on his toes, willing himself to focus and not cock up the most basic of orders, so all the rushed, caffeine-deprived commuters can get their coffee and get to work sharpish.

He sets the caramel latte down on the counter for Jenny, and then goes about making the soy mocha Liam has just called through from the till, ears already open for the next order. Soy mocha, then two flat whites, one decaf, got it. He nods to himself, wipes his hands on the front of his apron. The machine sputters under his fingers, and he sends a quick silent prayer that it will a least hold out until the end of the morning rush. They've been meaning to replace it for a couple of days, and it would be just Harry's luck that it gives out right under his hands at the busiest time of the day.

He's always wanted to be a barista, is the thing. The smell of freshly brewed coffee is addictive to him, the challenge, the pressure, all seemed to add up to his dream job. His best friend, Liam, had got him a place at this little shop down the road from his flat, and after his first morning rush Harry realised he'd been fucking crazy to think that being a barista was glamorous. In reality, it's frizzy hair from the steam, chipped fingernails, cuts he doesn't know how he got, coffee stained fingers and the smell of coffee that clings to his clothes and seems to follow him around. Now, two years on, he's made more coffees than he'd care to think about, and no, he still doesn't truly know how to make a skinny no-fat no-foam no-whip soy venti caramel mocha extra hot with an extra shot. If such a thing even exists.

The flat whites go out to Steven, and the end of the line is in sight. Four cappuccinos, two more lattes, three macchiatos and a peppermint tea later, the line is gone, all the caffeine-deprived commuters off to work. Harry breathes out a sigh of relief, wiping the remnants of coffee from his workstation and chucking the cloth in the sink. Liam shuts the till drawer one final time and claps him on the shoulder.

"Busy today," he says idly, and glances at his watch. "Louis is late, too."

At the mention of his name, Harry feels a hot flush work it's way from his cheeks to his neck. He ducks his head, smile hidden from Liam's watchful eyes as he ducks past him back to the machine.

"He'll be here, soon," he tells Liam, turning to peer out of the window to look up and down the street. "I better get started on his drink."

"What treasures have you got for him today for your little game, I wonder," Liam says, and Harry can hear the roll of his eyes in his voice. "Honestly, you two are as bad as teenagers. If you just tell him-"

"It's not a game, it's a serious competition," Harry cuts him off, reaching into the fridge for fresh milk and still steadfastly refusing to look at Liam. "Do we have to go over this again, Li? Louis and I are just friends."

He thinks he hears Liam mutter 'and the grass is blue,' but he can't be sure. At that moment, the bell above the door rings, and a whirlwind of blue eyes and dark hair charges into the shop. Harry turns in time to see Louis clap Liam on the shoulder and then hop up onto the counter next to where Harry's working.

"Hello, you," he says, eyes sparkling.

Harry feels his smile stretching wide. His heart beats double time in his chest, fingers trembling a little where he reaches for a cup. "Hiiiii," he replies. "You're late."

"Sorry, got held up at the station. What have you got for me today, then?"

Harry clears his throat. "Are you from Tennessee? Cos you're the only ten-I-see!"

Louis laughs loudly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he exposes lines of white teeth. It's unfair how white they are considering how much coffee he drinks. "Nice, I like it. But...this is Manchester, not Tennessee, so eight out of ten, I think."

Harry preens, plucking a coffee sleeve from the pile and sliding the cup into it. "And yours?"

Louis sits up straight, announcing, "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk past again?"

Harry groans, biting back his smile as he shakes his head. "Pure cheese, Tomlinson. Six out of ten for that."

"Six?!" Louis crows indignantly. "I spent all morning thinking of that!"

Harry shrugs, "You'll have to try harder than that next time then, won't you? Now go, get to work before you're even more late."

Louis huffs, jumping off the counter. Harry reaches out, straightening Louis' crooked tie and brushing a piece of lint from Louis' shoulder. He hands his coffee over, and Louis grins. "Fine. Thanks for the drink, babe. Bye, Liam!"

And just like the tornado that he is, he's out of the door again. All at once the shop is quieter, the colours dull, Harry's world just a little bit less bright. He sighs, looking after Louis wistfully until Liam smacks him on the arm, hard.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"Do you know how sickening it is to watch you two like that? 'Just friends' my arse."

Harry sighs. "Don't start, Liam."

"You two act like a married couple, and you look at him like he hangs the sun in the sky each morning."

"No, I don't!" At Liam's raised eyebrow, Harry spreads his arms, palms up. "Even if I did, which I don't, it wouldn't matter, because Louis and I are just good friends. He doesn't even think of me like that."

"Sure," Liam retorts. "Whatever you say."

Harry just sighs again and turns away, reaching for a clean cloth to wipe the surfaces down. They have this argument nearly every day; Liam scolding him for not telling Louis how he feels. It doesn't matter how many times he denies it, Liam sees straight through him.

It's been this way for near enough a year now, ever since he and Louis met. Louis had come into the shop one day, ducking out of the rain, hair plastered to his forehead. He'd asked Harry for a hot chocolate through chattering teeth, and smiled cheerfully even though his lips were a little blue, and as far as Harry was concerned, that was it, he was done for. Even now, Harry thinks his smile looks a bit like the sun coming out.

They're just friends, though, and Harry struggles through the time he spends with Louis with that thought like a heavy weight in his stomach. Louis is too bright, too beautiful to want to be with someone as ordinary as Harry, and Harry would rather have him as a friend than as nothing at all. It's masochistic, he knows, craving Louis' presence even if it does cause a painful ache in his chest and fills him with so much longing he could burst with it. Hary doesn't like to admit it, but it gets harder with every day that passes.

The next morning Louis is back, late again, meandering past the last few people in the queue and straight up to Harry.

"Morning, Haz," he says through a yawn.

"You okay?" Harry asks, looking at him from the corner of his eye as he pours milk into a jug. He looks tired, bloodshot eyes with circles the colour of bruises underneath. Harry wants to tell him to get back to bed so he can rest until he's back to his normal bouncy self.

"Fine, love. Just tired. Was up half the night. Come on, then."

Harry turns to him. "If Iron Man and Silver Surfer teamed up they would be alloys."

Louis snickers, "Good, but not your best. Six for you. Okay, I used to go fishing with Skrillex, but he kept dropping the bass."

Harry groans, reaching for a coffee sleeve. "Terrible. Five."

"Five?! It wasn't that bad!"

"It was awful!" Liam calls from the till, and Louis flips him off jovially. "I'd like to see your attempts, Li. Right, gotta go." He jumps down, and before Harry can stop him he has actually crossed into Harry's work space and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Thanks for the drink. Bye!"

Liam calls goodbye, and Harry raises his hand in farewell.

"Breathe, Harry," Liam reminds him, and he sucks in a lungful of air gratefully.

He's way in over his head.

 

*****

 

Louis is gorgeous, that's half of Harry's problem. Wispy dark brown hair that he sweeps across his forehead, shining blue eyes and razor sharp cheekbones. He's shorter than Harry by a couple of inches, the height difference just enough that he would fit perfectly under Harry's chin. He's loud to Harry's quiet, hyper to Harry's chill, his left to his right and every other cliche Harry can come up with.

Thing is, Harry hasn't slept with someone in a little over a year, which coincides with the time he met Louis. He's come close a couple of times, forced himself out of the flat and to a club to find someone, anyone to try and fill the hole in his chest. He's never been able to go through with it, feeling absurdly like he's cheating on someone he's not even with. Someone who he calls his friend. He feels like he's in a Bronte novel; all this pining and longing can't be healthy.

Friday morning, Louis is on time, which Harry isn't expecting, so he has to hang around for a minute for his drink to be made, legs swinging from the counter top. He's wearing a powder blue shirt today with his black trousers, and Harry thinks it makes his eyes look bluer than usual.

"Hit me with it," he orders Harry, and Harry smiles up at him.

"Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Because you have a pretty sweet arse."

Louis guffaws, and Harry's heart clenches. "Where do you get these, Haz? That's a solid seven."

"I dunno," Harry shrugs. "They're better than yours though."

"And I do have a sweet arse," Louis contemplates. And well, Harry has to agree. "Okay, listen. You don't need Victoria's Secret wings to let people know you're an angel."

Harry hears Liam scoff behind him, masking it as a cough, and he snorts indelicately. "Hmm, seven, too, I think."

"I'll take it, it's an improvement on five."

Harry holds out his cup and Louis takes it, brushing Harry's fingers deliberately on the way and winking. Harry's breath stutters in his throat.

Louis sniffs his drink, "Perfect as always. Gotta go, see you Liam! Love you, Haz. See you tomorrow." He lingers by Harry's side, smiling gently, eyes soft, and touches his fingers to Harry's forearm.

"Love you too, Lou," Harry croaks, heart in his mouth. He watches him barrel out of the door and down towards the bus stop.

This is too much. Those words are all Harry has ever wanted to hear, but Louis, he doesn't even mean them. He doesn't know what they do to him.

Liam takes one look at his face, and pats him on the shoulder kindly. "Take five, yeah?"

Harry escapes to the back room wordlessly, and hides.

 

*****

 

It becomes a mantra. Just friends, just friends, just friends. Harry makes coffee, argues with Liam, kisses Louis' cheek and gives him coffee and bad puns, and wonders how much longer he can do this. It's the risk of making things awkward that stops him from saying anything, though. He can't risk damaging their friendship.

When Louis comes in on Friday, this time in a white shirt with navy trousers, Harry is already ready for him. He grins, presenting Louis with his drink, and opens his mouth.

"Ah," Louis stops him. "My turn first today. I've lost my phone number, can I have yours?"

Harry just rolls his eyes. He catches Louis looking at him strangely, like he's disappointed, or sad or something. But it's gone in an instant, and he's back to his old self, reaching out to flick the bun of hair on Harry's head.

'Oh and you can do better?'

Harry nods, and says, "There's a party in my pants, and you're invited."

Liam makes a sound suspiciously like gagging behind him, but Harry ignores it in favour of watching Louis. He's ducked his head, so Harry peers down under his fringe. He swears Louis is blushing, pink spreading across his cheeks.

Harry frowns a little. "So, I guess, yours is an eight?"

Louis peeks at him, "Thanks, yours was a nine."

"Nine? It must have been good."

"It was," Louis looks around then, as if he's remembering where they are. "Anyway! I'd better go." He takes his drink from Harry and pulls him into a quick hug, "See you tomorrow, love."

"Bye, Lou." Harry watches him go.

Something curls in his stomach. It feels a little bit like hope.

 

*****

 

Louis takes Harry by surprise when he comes into the shop on a Saturday. He's used to only seeing him during the week, so when he catches sight of Louis in between serving students and families, he waves him over to the counter.

"Hey!" he calls, pausing in the process of making a latte to pull Louis into a one armed hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," Louis shrugs. "Just felt like stopping by."

"Okay, well I've got a break in ten, why don't you wait in the back room?"

Louis brushes past him with a smile. Harry finishes his latte and starts on the macchiatos Liam has just called through. When there's a lull in the queue a few minutes later, Liam nudges him in the side.

"Now's your chance," he says pointedly. "Tell him how you feel."

"Liam-"

"Harry." Liam is serious. "I love you, but grow a pair."

"Right," Harry says shortly. "Right. I'm taking my break now."

"You do that."

So Harry shuffles through to where Louis is waiting for him. He's sat on an old rickety stool, and he jumps to his feet when Harry comes through the door. For a moment, they stare at each other. Something between them has shifted, Harry can feel it.

He stuffs his sweaty palms into his pockets and tries for a smile. Just as he opens his mouth, Louis does the same.

"Lou-"

"Liam-"

And they both cut each other off. Harry stifles a high pitched giggle.

"Liam said you were dense."

Harry's smile falters. "Excuse me?"

"Liam," Louis repeats. "He called me."

"He did what?"

"He told me...stuff. About you and me. Well, what he basically said was that I needed to sort myself out because he was sick of you pining and looking like a lovesick puppy all the time."

"Oh my god." Harry is going to kill Liam in his sleep. "I'm so sorry, Lou, none of that is true, I-"

"Isn't it?" Louis is looking at him with that weird expression on his face, a little pitying smile playing around his lips. "I told Liam we were both as dense as each other."

"I...what?" Harry says, dumbfounded. He's aware his mouth is hanging open in a probably very unattractive way.

"Well, yeah, we must be. Haz...I've been trying to flirt with you for months, I thought you hadn't noticed."

"You've been...what? What about our competition?"

"That was my weird way of trying to ask you out," Louis grimaces, shoves a hand through his hair and making it stick up slightly. "I know it wasn't the best way, but I was trying to see if you liked me too. But you never showed any signs of us being more than friends, so I just...didn't do anything."

He looks vulnerable like this, messy hair and embarrassed expression, and Harry wants to wrap him up and hold onto him forever.

"I thought you were just messing around," Harry says faintly. "I thought you were just joking."

Louis shuffles closer to him, close enough for Harry to feel the heat of his body. ''Course I wasn't. I'm crazy about you. You know, this place isn't even on my way to work- I have to change trains to get here. I wanted to see you every morning."

"Fuck," Harry says succinctly, and wraps a hand around the back of Louis' neck to pull him in for a kiss.

Louis laughs in surprise, and loops his arms around Harry's neck, lips parting immediately against Harry's. His fingers wind themselves into Harry's hair and Harry pulls him closer by his waist, wrapping his arms as far as they'll go around him. He feels the urge to pinch himself to make sure he's not dreaming, because Harry never gets this lucky. Louis sighs into him, tilting his head to the left, and Harry tightens his grip on him. This is it, he thinks. There's no letting go now.

Suddenly there's a sharp staccato noise behind him, and Harry breaks the kiss and turns, Louis still in his arms. Liam stands there, clapping loudly with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Finally," he says with a huge roll of his eyes, but Harry can hear how pleased he is. "Took you long enough. Hate to intrude, but I could really do with your help, Harry."

"Course, I'll be out in a minute." Harry turns back to Louis, fitting his mouth over his once more.

After a moment, Louis pulls back to meet Harry's eyes. "Does this mean I get free coffee for life?"

Harry thinks for a second, "I think so, seeing as this is the start of something brew-tiful."

Louis groans loudly, but he gives Harry another kiss, too. "That, Haz, was a solid ten."


End file.
